“Oh. All right.” Jock tried the door handle but it didn’t budge so he brought out his keys and tried them finding one that worked. “You two stay here,” he said. He handed the dead flashlight to Lett. He set down his pack. Crouching, he turned the handle and cracked the door open, looked out. Then he went, careful to pull the door shut behind him.

Lett banged on the flashlight, but nothing happened. Kanani stood at the door on tiptoes so she could look out the peephole. Soon she opened the door. Jock was already back, with beads of sweat on his forehead.

“The opening checks out,” he reported. “There’s no one. Nothing. Barely a bush,” he added to Kanani, who nodded gravely.

They headed out into the cave entrance and continued outside, crouching at first, peering around like small desert animals. They soon saw they had no reason to fear, not out here, not yet. Facing east, Kanani stood tall and eyed the vast open plain with hands on her hips like a prospector. “Boys, you two take a good look at that no-man’s-land. ’Cause with any luck, that’s what’s gonna save our lives.”

***

Five o’clock. They fled across the barren landscape, the wind cool and whipping at them. Lett finally let himself eat. Jock opened him a can of C-ration, what Jock called “C-rat,” but to Lett the lukewarm beef and vegetable stew was Thanksgiving dinner and dessert, too. He ate as they marched and hummed as he chewed, even though his knees and ankles ached and his thighs burned and his lungs wheezed. At least they had boots for him. And he couldn’t help smiling, grinning. They had fled only a few miles inland, yet he could see every star in the sky, it seemed, more stars than he’d seen in any desert or forest he’d ever known. Theirs was a new world—the Big Island’s high outland interior. And Kanani and Jock were there for him, believing in him. Whenever he stumbled or stopped to pant, leaning on his creaking knees, they would stop and huddle with him, their hands on his shoulders. Along with those C-rats, Jock’s pack had D-ration tropical bars and the three canteens of water hanging off it. Lett had only emptied one canteen. They would ration the rest, obeying a cardinal rule of outdoors survival, as Jock reminded them—hydrate in the cool of the evening or morning to regulate sweat, thereby saving water.

They took a break. Jock insisted that Lett eat a tropical bar from his pack.

“If you do me one favor,” Lett said.

“Name it.”

“You’ll have to lose the revolver. You’ll have to lose it for good.”

Jock stared, his elbows bent. He turned to Kanani. She stared.